


Open Your Heart

by LittleWhiteTie



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Demons, M/M, Magic, Musicians, literal bad boy shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26821834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleWhiteTie/pseuds/LittleWhiteTie
Summary: A rockstar-turned-demon, Shiro weaves spells into his voice to sing his victims' chests open, draining the love from their hearts and leaving them empty.It's routine, just like every other night, until one of his victims breaks through his spell. When he reaches for this heart, a pair of dark eyes snap up to meet his own. Shiro pours a little more magic into his voice, but the boy still holds his gaze.Shiro tugs, but the stubborn heart won't open for him. It’s different from the others. Hardened, strong, impenetrable. Nothing can get in, and nothing can get out. A heart like this… If Shiro took it for his own, replaced the black hole in his chest where his heart used to be, he wouldn’t have to thieve night after night. The witch’s curse would be no longer. If Shiro had this heart, it could all be over.So Shiro comes to a decision. He’s going to steal this boy’s heart, no matter what it takes.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 83
Collections: Bad Boys





	Open Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun with this one! Thank you so much to everyone who helped me with brainstorming, editing, and encouraging me along the way.

“I love you, Tokyo,” Shiro croons into the microphone. Tonight’s crowd is roaring with energy. Their hearts are full, and Shiro is _starving._

He scans the crowd for prey: only the purest of hearts will do. He’ll steal their love and live to see another day.

He weaves a spell into his voice, lulling the crowd into a deep trance as he sings their chests open. One by one, he drains the love from their hearts, leaving them empty. The painful void in his chest cavity starts to fill; the throbbing in his cursed arm subsides.

It’s routine, just like every other night, up until one of his victims breaks through his spell. When he reaches for this heart, a pair of dark eyes snap up to meet his own. Shiro pours a little more magic into his voice, but the boy still holds his gaze.

Shiro tugs, but the stubborn heart won’t open for him. It’s different from the others. Hardened, strong, impenetrable. Nothing can get in, and nothing can get out.

A heart like this… If Shiro took it for his own, replaced the black hole in his chest where his heart used to be, he wouldn’t have to thieve night after night. The witch’s curse would be no longer. If Shiro had this heart, it could all be over.

So Shiro comes to a decision. He’s going to steal this boy’s heart, no matter what it takes.

* * *

The boy is a guitarist. At least, that’s what the guitar pick strung around his neck and calloused fingertips say. The dark skinny jeans hugging his hips tell Shiro he’s confident—and could use some extra cash, judging by the way they’re torn around his knees.

So before his last song, Shiro announces to the crowd, “I’m looking for a new opening act for the next leg of my tour. Does anyone here play the guitar?”

The crowd erupts in cheers and hollers. The boy doesn’t open his mouth, but the corners of his lips lift and his eyes brighten with a determined gleam.

“If you think you have what it takes,” Shiro challenges, “come find me backstage after the show.” 

To make things easier, in the chords of his final song, Shiro sows self-doubt. He whittles down the number of people vying for the position by suggesting to most of them that they’re not what he’s looking for. Thousands of pairs of eyes glaze over, but the crystal-hearted boy’s gaze remains sharp. 

Satisfied, Shiro finishes his set and walks off stage.

By the time he gets back to his dressing room, there’s a queue with fans waiting to demo for him—just enough to not be suspicious. Shiro brings out a guitar, and they get started. 

One after another, Shiro turns them down. He almost feels bad, dashing their hopes like this, but even if he were legitimately doing this to find an opening act, none of them feel quite right. Not until…

“Hi,” the boy says, fiddling with the ebony pick around his neck. “Uh, I’m Keith.” His pure heart is like a magnet, and Shiro’s arm throbs with the need to _take._

Shiro buries his hunger and gives him a warm smile. “Hi, Keith.” He gestures to the stool and hands Keith the guitar. 

Keith sits there for a moment, hesitant, but when he slides his deft fingers into position and strikes his first chord, the tension in his shoulders falls away. He closes his eyes and starts to sing.

Shiro was expecting him to be good, but Keith is more than good. He’s _prodigal._ His voice is beautiful, rough and sweet. His fingers have both tight precision and fluidity, chord changes natural as breathing. His chords are unpredictable, ever changing, and flawless.

His lyrics are simple but striking, melancholic and raw and evocative. He sings about being let down, about being given up on. He’s sad. Lonely. Hurting. _Perfect._

When Keith’s last chord fades out, his velvet eyes blink open. “So… uh…”

“You’re incredible, Keith,” Shiro says, with utmost honesty. “I’d love to have you join the tour as my opening act, if you’re up for it.”

“You… you’d really want me?”

“More than you can imagine,” Shiro says. “I’ve been looking for someone exactly like you. Will you join me?”

Keith’s lips curve up, tentative but hopeful. “I—I’d like that a lot.”

Shiro flashes his pearly whites in return. Keith is still guarded—Shiro will have to work to earn his trust before he can take his heart. But Shiro’s never let a challenge stop him before. He can do this. He’ll win him over. It’s just a matter of time.

* * *

Keith is beyond talented, but his stage presence leaves something to be desired. It’s his first night on the tour, and he looks lost.

“Uhh… I’m Keith. I’m gonna… play some stuff,” he says awkwardly into the microphone.

Most of the crowd isn’t listening. The few that are paying attention are mocking him, tossing around jeers and taunts. Keith’s face falls.

Shiro strides onstage. “This is Keith Kogane,” he tells the audience. “I asked him to join me on my tour. He’s the most talented artist I’ve ever met, and he deserves a proper welcome. So, Osaka—are you ready for Keith?”

The audience cheers, bright and wild. “Thanks, Shiro,” Keith utters as Shiro slips backstage. 

Keith doesn’t try to engage with the audience any further. He just strums a few notes and begins to sing. 

The audience soon falls quiet, mesmerized. He really is incredible. It’s unfortunate Shiro will be taking away this talent from the world—but he can’t be having second thoughts. 

Taking Keith’s heart is for the greater good. It’s one person against the hundreds of victims he hurts each year, draining their hearts until they’re shells of who they used to be.

Shiro never wanted to be a villain, but he has no choice, not if he wants to survive. His arm aches, a steady reminder of the witch and her curse.

He can do this. He’ll win Keith over, take his heart for his own. But until then, he can appreciate Keith’s music. He closes his eyes, letting Keith’s melodies wash over him, and his arm hurts a little less.

* * *

“I don’t know how to talk to them,” Keith says after the show, running a flustered hand through his hair. “The audience,” he clarifies, as he takes a swig of his cheap beer.

“You were great out there,” Shiro assures him, imbuing his voice with kindness and warmth. “You heard them cheering for you at the end there. You played beautifully.”

A little smile makes its way to Keith’s lips. “Thanks. For what you did up there, and for bringing me along. For believing in me, even though I’m not exactly… star material.”

Shiro frowns. “What makes you say that?” 

Keith shrugs. “I mean, that’s what everyone’s told me up ’til now. And it’s true. I’m not good with people. I don’t have the right personality for the entertainment business. I’m not like _you._ ”

Shiro shakes his head. “I meant what I said out there. You’re incredibly talented. The rest? Working a crowd? That can be learned, and you’ll get there. I know you can.”

“Not the way you can,” Keith says. _“No one_ can do… whatever it is you do to the audience. What’s your secret?”

Shiro smiles over his vodka martini. “I’ll have to show you some time.”

Keith looks genuinely hopeful, doe eyes bright and innocent, and oh, this might be harder to go through with than Shiro had originally thought.

But Shiro can do this. He has to do this. He doesn’t want to be a monster anymore.

* * *

They move from city to city, country to country. Shiro gives Keith the encouragement and kindness he’s longed for his whole life, and slowly, Keith warms to him. 

By the time they start the American leg of the tour, they’re near inseparable. Shiro’s grown fond of him—dangerously fond. But he hasn’t forgotten why he brought him along in the first place. The vacancy in his victims’ eyes each night won’t let him.

The tour continues, and Shiro continues to drain hearts, Keith none the wiser. But when they reach Chicago, they hit a snag.

A girl—young but vicious—has Keith cornered down the hall from Shiro’s hotel room. “What did he _do_ to him?” she snarls.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Keith tells her, flatly.

“My brother was fine at the beginning of the show last night. But by the end, he was— He was _empty._ It was like he had the life drained out of him. Shiro did something to him, I know it.”

“You’re delusional,” Keith says.

“Matt thinks we don’t love him anymore!” the girl shouts. ”Shiro—“

“Did _what,_ exactly?” Keith snaps. “How would Shiro even do that?”

“I don’t know,” she says, “but he did something _.”_

“With what, _magic?”_ Keith scoffs.

“It’s possible!” she says, not backing down. “You’ve heard of Allura, haven’t you? The demon hunter?”

“You mean the urban myth?” Keith says.

“She’s not a myth,” the girl says. “I know her. She’s legit. Magical demons really do exist.”

“Please,” Keith says. “Even if Shiro _had_ magical abilities, he wouldn’t hurt anyone. He would never.”

Shiro’s stomach turns.

“Defend him all you want,” the girl says. “I’m bringing Allura along, and we’re gonna get to the bottom of this. Whether it’s at the next concert, or the one after that, when she sees what he does, she’ll _end_ him.”

“You’re wasting your time,” Keith says, coldly. “Enjoy the next few shows.”

After footsteps storm past his door and fade into the distance, Shiro steps into the hallway. “Everything okay out here?” he asks.

“Just some crazy fan,” Keith shrugs. “She thinks you put her brother under a spell or something.”

Shiro puts on an easy grin. “What can I say? Some people just find me enchanting.”

“Uh huh,” Keith smirks, and that’s that.

* * *

Shiro scans the crowd that night, and sure enough, he can sense it: someone with strong magical abilities. Allura must be here. She’ll definitely sense any spells he casts, and he can’t risk being found out, so he refrains from feeding that night.

It’s fine… But then he feels her presence at the next show, the city over.

And the one after that.

Shiro holds off feeding until they’ve left North America to return to Japan.

“Are you okay?” Keith asks, not for the first time. “You really don’t look good.”

Shiro’s vision blurs. His chest aches. He’s _famished._ “I’m fine,” he promises. He just has to hold out a little longer. “Just feeling a little lightheaded, that’s all.”

His cursed arm throbs, desperate to _take._ He clutches at his sleeve.

“What’s wrong with your arm?” Keith asks.

“Old injury,” Shiro admits through gritted teeth. “Acts up, sometimes.”

There’s concern rooted deep in Keith’s eyes. “Should we cancel the next concert?”

“No,” Shiro says. Not an option. “I’ll… ngh… I’ll be fine. I just…”

Keith catches him as he staggers. His arms are warm, so warm. 

Keith touches Shiro’s cheek. “You’re _freezing._ Should I take you to a doctor?”

Shiro shakes his head. “No.”

“What can I do to help?” Keith asks, softly.

Shiro swallows. Tomorrow night, they’ll be performing in front of a large crowd, under the full moon. Shiro’s powers will be at their strongest. If he can get Keith on that stage with him… 

“I—I don’t know how well I can play with my arm like this,” Shiro says. “Will you accompany me on my set tomorrow night?”

Keith’s eyes widen. “You… really want me on stage with you? Together?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says, shivering. “Together.”

Keith holds him close. “Of course I’ll join you,” he says, gently. “I’d be honoured.”

“Thank you, Keith,” Shiro breathes. “You’ll be helping me more than you know.”

* * *

Shiro’s vision swims on stage. There’s ice shooting through his veins; there’s a vacuum where his heart should be _._ His arm is in agony _,_ begging to take and take and take. 

It’s hard to focus on singing, but Keith’s steady rhythms guide him through familiar melodies. Shiro lulls the audience into a trance, deep and heavy, where they won’t see what he’s about to do.

Keith’s crystal heart is a beacon, a sliver of light through the fog; a siren, drawing him in. It calls to him, and Shiro answers.

Shiro lifts his sleeve, allowing moonlight to strike the glowing mark on his forearm and release the limb’s cursed form. Shadows spread in plumes up his shoulder and down his wrist, twisting into sharp talons. 

The arena goes silent, save for reverb. Keith’s eyes are wide. “Shiro...?”

Shiro reaches for Keith, claws poised to tear his ribcage open. Keith clutches his guitar close to his body, holding it like a shield between them.

"Shiro?" Keith's voice wavers. "What— What are you— What's happening?"

“I’m sorry, Keith,” Shiro says. “I need your heart.”

“I don’t understand,” Keith says. “Does this— Does this have something to do with your illness?”

“It’s not an illness,” Shiro says. “It’s a curse. The girl from Chicago was right. I’m a demon. A monster that feeds on people’s hearts each night.”

Keith blinks, processing, then shakes his head. “You’re not a monster. You’re just doing what you have to.”

“I… I am.” Shiro swallows thickly as his shadowed fingertips hover over Keith’s sternum. “I’m doing what I have to. Your heart, it’s… special. It’s strong enough to survive on its own. If I replace my heart with yours, I won’t have to do this anymore.”

“Oh,” Keith whispers. His dark eyes soften, one last time. 

“I’m sorry,” Shiro says. Tears slip down his cheeks. “I don’t want to do this.”

Keith lets the guitar fall away from his body. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not.”

Keith gives him a gentle smile, then tugs at Shiro's cursed hand, placing it flat against his chest. Keith's fingers are warm. “Take it. I want you to have it. I don’t want you to suffer any longer.”

Shiro shakes. “How… How can you…”

“The past few months with you, I’ve been happier than I’ve ever been,” Keith says. “I— I know now that it might’ve just been an act to get close to me, but it felt real. For the first time in my life, it felt like I had someone who believed in me.”

Shiro swallows. “Keith…”

“It’s okay,” Keith soothes, and closes his eyes in surrender.

“How can you possibly be okay with this?” Shiro whispers.

“Because,” Keith says. “I love you.”

The words knock the breath from Shiro’s lungs. A swell of heat bursts through his core; a symphony of colour floods his vision. He can’t breathe... and then he _can._

The darkness shrouding his arm dissipates, and for once, it doesn't hurt. For the first time, the hunger is gone.

Shiro falls to his knees. "Keith," he whispers. 

Keith bends down and gathers him in his arms, cradling him as he buries his tear-stained face in Keith’s chest.

"Keith, you— You broke the curse. You saved me.”

A gentle smile lines Keith's lips. "I'm glad you're okay."

”I almost— I don't deserve—” 

Keith shakes his head, hushing him.

“Thank you,” Shiro whispers, instead. 

He stays where he is, safe in Keith’s arms, until the crowd starts to fall out of its trance.

“Should we finish your set?” Keith asks, as confused murmurs begin to fill the stadium.

“ _Our_ set,” Shiro says. “If you’ll have me.”

“Of course,” Keith says, and Shiro’s veins flood with warmth all over again. Shiro’s heart—alive and whole—soars as Keith smiles. “I’m all in.”


End file.
